Poetry
The Secret Wind of the Desert
I want to sit next to Michael Ondaatje in the library of the Royal Geographical Society, in its old, redbrick building.

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Poetry
I want to sit next to Michael Ondaatje in the library of the Royal Geographical Society, in its old, redbrick building.
Poetry
Geneva, Without Biryani I open my cupboard, rows of olive oil, jars of mustard, but no spice that burns the way my mother’s kitchen did. Here, hunger is polite, measur…
Poetry
Styx Some days, I eat chips with chopsticks – old skin dreads washing – and pay the liver toll; glove when changing lights, weak knees on creaky steps, wondering where…
Poetry
Sitting in the harsh light of the mirror, tracing the map of my body, I wonder about solitude— having only body parts for company. Anatomy is a story told in parts: th…
Poetry
Kudzu doesn’t plan its dominance, it just eats what’s offered. Brought here to heal what erosion carved from hillsides, it acquired gratitude for everything. Tri-lobed…
Poetry
What a person desires in life is a properly made bed. This isn’t as easy as it seems. There must be a mattress, made of plucked feathers, farmed cotton, stretched tigh…
Poetry
I want to slip out of this husk of moonlight, this night of white robes, of Nero frantically unfolding the dark with orange flames, music’s medicine in my head. Klonop…
Poetry
The air jumps with vibrant color, free on this leafy August day. A yellowthroat pitches its poise from its perch in an oak’s shade into the crackling heat. I watch its…
Poetry
I saw the river in a dream and thought it the body of a woman, a snake, a naga, ferocious and fearsome— but her hands unfolded into the hills, gentle, a tangle of fing…
Poetry
On this slow-moving morning, only a bright Cardinal on a pile of dead Elm branches seems alive. The only color. Clouds slow to a standstill. Dreary gray covers the lan…
Poetry
Sequence I I am afraid of the knock on the door— the monster is trying to define me. The streets are full of bags stuffed with torn pages of banned novels. Are books t…
Poetry
I sit with my palms open for 21 days – letting all go: you, purpose and heat; ‘It takes 21 days to form or break a habit’ – my mind gathers what Instagram says, the th…
Poetry
Half Digital Half the body, flesh and bone. Half, digital. Half the mind, made of muscle and nerve. Half, digital. Half of touch, skin against skin. Half, digital. Hal…
Poetry
On a summer break as we sat in the Kottayam Passenger, Mehbubikka said: Teyi! Try putting your eye in your ear. Kollaththe Pappadam Gandan Pappadam Kollaththe Pappadam…
Poetry
Salt Everything exists in plenty Plenty of walls Plenty of wheels Plenty of love songs Plenty of news Plenty of porn sites Plethora We don’t realize we are suffocating…
Poetry
Nipple Clips and Naked Jeans The line between bold and vulgar is thin – fashionist Maggie Weber Exceptional women looking and feeling best in, like Kim’s Mugler drip s…
Poetry
Visiting Kaali in Sadar Bazaar, Meerut Cantt Where unfolds the temple lane like a slim invite, a masjid rests under a sun-draped dome. Inside, a gurudwara faces the De…
Poetry
My Mother’s Widowhood When Father died I was ten. My mother was thirty. Now I am fifty And my mother seventy. In these past forty years How many colours Has my rainbow…
Poetry
Cruelty Little by little, forgiveness will diminish. The longing for love will remain, but not the need. The restlessness of gaining, the pain of loss, will fall away.…
Poetry
Afruza Sent Me Some Dates Month of Ramadan Afruza sent some dates for me In a packet marked brotherhood. Written in a chit ‘Relish the dates, bhaijaan’. I do not obser…
Poetry
A poem of music, memory, winter, and the proof of change.
Book Reviews
Kabir Deb reviews Suchita Parikh-Mundul’s Absurd Theatre.
Poetry
A poem tracing an alphabet of grief, possibility, and imagined motherhood.
The Poetry Cast
These poems are excerpted with permission from HarperCollins Publishers India, from their audiobook edition of 'So That You Know', written and read by Mani Rao.